


Knocking Heads Together

by zombiesbecrazy



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batfam Week 2018, Brothers, Family Feels, Game of Thrones References, Gen, Head Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 18:25:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15563787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiesbecrazy/pseuds/zombiesbecrazy
Summary: Jason stops by the manor with gifts for his brothers. Something that they all should have had years ago.





	Knocking Heads Together

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Batfam Week 2018 with the prompt: Family Night.

Jason stopped in the doorway and watched his brothers.

The living room was dim, with a sole table lamp providing a soft light. Damian was sitting in the armchair beside it, reading aloud from what sounded like something from A Song of Ice and Fire (though Jason couldn’t place which book it was from), while Dick sat on the couch with Tim using his leg as a pillow, covered in fluffy blankets. Dick and Damian both noticed him leaning against the doorframe, but Tim’s eyes were slowly closing and he seemed unaware that he was being watched. Dick tapped Tim’s shoulder lightly and he groaned as he struggled to reopen his eyes.

“No sleep yet. Alfred’s orders. Focus on Damian reading about what is happening in Dorne.”

“I watch the show. I know what happens.”

“You know nothing, Tim Drake. They basically ignore the Dorne storyline on the show. Fools.”

“But both are fictional and I’m tired and I don’t care, Dick. It’s been long enough. Just let me sleep.” Tim must have closed his eyes again because Dick pinched him, making Tim let out a pitiful whining sound before reopening his eyes.

Dick shot a look at Jason and he had an exasperated expression that made Jason think that they’ve been having the same argument for a while. Jason had heard the chatter on the comms earlier in the night and knew that Tim had a run in with Killer Croc, had been thrown through a window, landed hard and had been knocked unconscious. Update had been that no bones had been broken, but he had a serious concussion and was going to be off the roster until he recovered.

Stepping into the room and dragging his big bag behind him on the floor, Jason looked at the lump on the couch and settled on the floor beside him. “You doing okay, Timmy?”

Tim turned and locks his eyes on him, but Jason could tell that they are having trouble focusing. “Dick is a jerk who won’t let me sleep. It’s been six hours since Alfred let me out of the med bay. I’m fine. He’s overreacting.”

Dick ran his fingers through Tim’s hair gently and smiled. “It’s been 47 minutes.”

“ _Hours_.” Tim sounded so put out that Jason couldn’t hold in his chuckle.

“Alfred said we couldn’t watch TV because the light would make his head hurt more so Damian is reading to us, but someone,” Dick pointed at Tim “is being a difficult patient.”

Tim stuck his tongue out.

None of them were particularly good at sitting still and resting, but taking all screens away from Tim during his down time was its own special kind of torture. His eyes were closing again and this time Jason shook him. When Tim’s glazed eyes found him again, Jason nodded his head in Damian’s direction. “Is he at least doing the voices for you? With all the imitating I hear he can do, the kid should be great at that.”

“No.” Tim sounded even grumpier now, lower lip sticking out in a slight pout and crossing his arms under the blanket. “I think it’s because he’s mean and he hates me. Even when you were trying to kill me, you would have done the voices.”

Rolling his eyes at Tim, Damian turned to Jason. “What do you mean by ‘doing the voices’?”

Once in a while there was an idiom that Damian didn’t quite get, some sort of phrase that he hadn’t heard before, or a pop culture reference that he wasn’t old enough to know, but this one seemed pretty self-explanatory and it made Jason curious. “I know better than most that the League isn’t a warm and fuzzy family environment, but didn’t anyone ever read to you when you were little-r, squirt?”

“Of course they did. All the time. Treaties, manifestos, educational material. I was read to daily until I was able to read on my own.”

Dick’s brow furrowed, obviously on the same thought train as Jason’s. “Damian, he means things like fairy tales and bedtime stories.”

Shoulders shrugged. “They were deemed unnecessary. I didn’t have access to any fictional works before I came to Gotham.” Dick’s jaw noticeably clenched and Jason heard Tim let out a long, slow breath. Damian’s eyes darted between the three of them, and he had a confused expression cross his face. “What?”

No one spoke but Jason knew that they are all thinking the same thing. As different as their childhoods had been before they had each come to the manor, being read to was something that the three of them had in common. Something that _most_ kids had in common. Jason’s mom had taught him to read that way, taking turns curled up in a chair together. Dick’s parents had read to him every night before bed, and Jason knew that Bruce had done the same with both of them, even though Jason had thought he was a little old for it at the time. Tim’s parents weren’t around often but his nannies had read to him frequently. They were all aware how different Damian’s childhood had been, being raised as a weapon, but this realization just seemed… sad. But they couldn’t say that to Damian without him feeling like they were pitying him and lashing out in return. Educational explanation was the route to go.

Jason made his tone sound as neutral as possible. “It’s like acting out a one person play. ‘Doing the voices’ means that when you read out loud you make all the character’s dialogue sound different.”

“That… never even occurred to me.” Damian was silent for a few moments, thinking this explanation over to himself, and then he smiled. “It would make this a much more entertaining task. Thank you for the suggestion.” He reopened the book to where he had stopped. “Drake, if the character speaking is in the show do you want them to sound like that? It would probably be easier for your concussed brain to comprehend.”

“Yes, please.”

Opening up the book, Damian started to read again and immediately began to seamlessly switch back and forth between characters. Jason had never actually seen Damian’s mimicry skills in action before and within seconds was blown away; no wonder he could bypass Bruce and Alfred’s voice activation codes so easily. His words sounded exactly like the actors on the show, and the ones that weren’t on TV were distinct and consistent and much more entertaining. If the kid ever decided that he wanted something to grow up to be something other than Batman, he could be the rock star of voice acting. Most importantly though, he was succeeding in keeping Tim alert and engaged in the story.

When he finished the chapter, Damian closed the book and the room fell quiet for several minutes until a small snore came from the couch. Dick shook Tim again, who grumbled crankily. Dick pointed to the duffel bag Jason had set beside him, obviously looking for a new thing to focus on to keep Tim awake. “What’s in the bag, Jay? Please tell me that it isn’t full of heads.”

“Why do you always assume that my stuff has heads in them? That was one time. Statistically, the chances that it’s full of heads is very low,” said Jason with a tone of mock offense in his voice, “but you actually aren’t that far off.” Dick raised a brow, which Jason chose to ignore and instead poked Tim in the cheek. “Sit up, Timmy. Santa Hood brought presents.” Tim groaned as he pushed himself upright, keeping the blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders and he blinked repeatedly, trying to clear his head. Jason waved for Damian to join him on the floor in front of the couch. When he was settled, Jason reached into the bag, pulled out three hastily wrapped boxes and handed them out. “These are for you. Because you’re all idiots.”

“That’s not something that usually gets celebrated.” said Tim slowly.

“Just take them.”

Dick was the first one to get his box open and lift the gift out. “You got us helmets?” The helmet in Dick’s hands was blue and matched his Nightwing uniform. Seeing Dick’s, Damian and Tim pulled theirs out quicker to inspect; Tim’s was a darker red than Jason’s own, while Damian’s was a forest green, the same colour as his Robin boots.

“I designed you helmets similar to mine. Been working on them for a while and just finished up tonight, which is why I came by. To drop them off.” He looked at Tim and can’t help but think that it’s one day too late in his case. “Domino masks are fine for disguises and some visual tech, but don’t do anything to actually keep you safe.” He scratched his head and sighed. “You guys keep getting concussions. Bruce and the others all wear something on their heads so they are better protected, but I’m surprised that the three of you still have intact skulls or that the insides aren’t just pudding by now.”

Jason watched as the three of them were quietly inspected their helmets, surprisingly nervous to hear their opinions. Not long ago he wouldn’t have cared, and only slightly before then he was the one deliberately aiming for their heads. How much had changed in so little time.

Dick had the helmet on and was looking around the room with it, hand near his ear and filtering through the visual setting options. “The fit is perfect. I assume you got our head measurements from the mask molds downstairs?” Jason nodded, and Dick removed it, grinning. “It’s a nice gesture, Jay. It really is. And smart. It’s a great idea.”

All the praise sounded a little too good to be true and a little incomplete. “But?”

He ran his fingers over the smooth exterior of the helmet. “I’m know it’s stupid but I like the wind in my hair. I’ll definitely use it on the bike and wear it if I know that things are going to get especially explode-y. Not every day though. Sorry.”

To be honest, Jason wasn’t overly surprised. “Don’t apologize. Fashion over function is a dumb move, but that’s your prerogative. You’re an adult and can choose to get your brains splattered if you want.” Dick looked down, nodding his head slightly, and Jason turned his gaze and pointed at Tim and Damian. “However, you two munchkins don’t get a choice.”

Crossing his arms, Tim scowled at him. “I’m an adult.”

“You’re 17.”

“Emancipated minor. I’m responsible for myself.”

Waving at Tim’s beaten body at the couch, Jason chuckled grimly. “And you are clearly doing a great job of that.” Tim’s glare didn’t have a lot of effect when he was looking like he was going to pass out at any moment. “You still in the Mini Justice Titans or whatever you’re calling yourselves these days?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you’re not an adult. Non-negotiable. You’ve worn a cowl before. Same idea but better. You’re a smart guy. Need to keep that noggin safe.”

“You aren’t the boss of me.”

“No, but I already talked to B about it and he _is_ the boss of you.”

A look of shocked betrayal crossed Tim’s face. “He didn’t agree to this.”

“He didn’t disagree, and he gave me more of a hum than a grunt, so I’m counting that as a win. And not to mention that you are the one in this room currently rocking a grade 3 concussion thanks a rather large reptile.”

“Has anyone ever mentioned how stubborn you are?”

“Constantly.” Jason was finding it rather amusing that Tim was accusing him of being stubborn when he was pretty sure that Tim was protesting just for the sake of being difficult. “I think it’s warranted though. As stubborn as I may be, I did die from a head injury that one time.”

Damian popped his head up to look at him. “I was told you were killed by an explosion?”

“Nah, crowbar killed me before the bomb did. Or at least that’s the way I remember it. I could be wrong though.” He knocked his knuckles against is head, and glared at Tim. “You know, because of the _brain damage_.”

“You’re right. Thanks, Jay.” A sly grin grew across Tim’s face. “Does this mean that we are both Red Hood now?”

Shooting him his best death glare, Jason growls, which just makes Tim laugh. “You aren’t stealing anymore of my names, punk.”

“If you say so.” Tim snapped the helmet on into place and raised his hand to the side to start playing with features but Dick slapped it away before he can do anything. “No screens means the lenses stay deactivated.” The voice modulator and amplifier hadn’t been turned on yet so Jason can’t hear the exact words, but Tim was definitely mumbling curses at Dick.

Jason turned to the youngest and watched him wordlessly put on the helmet, move his neck from side to side, and applying pressure and tapping his fingers on various parts of it. The lenses flashes on and off a few times as he tested some of the filters. Damian disengaged the lock and removed the helmet again, and started inspecting the release clasp from the outside.

After watching him test the fingerprint security on all of his fingers without a word, Jason had to get some sort of feedback. “Kid? Any sass from you?”

“May I repaint it?”

“What?”

“I like it, but I think the green is too bright and would attract more attention. More attention means more head shots than I would likely receive in the first place. I’d like to make it black, but with some green highlights.” He shot a glance at Jason. Was he nervous? “If that’s alright with you.”

“You like it?” asked Jason slowly. He had expected resistance from everyone. He didn’t know how to react to someone agreeing with him.

“I said so, did I not? Armor is just as important as weaponry and skill.” He was inspecting the seams where the separate sections had been fused and nodded when whatever he had been looking for had at least satisfied him. “I had mentioned to Father before that I thought we needed better protection for our heads, and I tested a cowl but didn’t like the way it blocked my peripherals. This seems to function much better.” He shrugged in a way that only a pre-teen feigning indifference could. “I’d just like to paint it differently if that is acceptable.”

“Then go for it, Picasso.”

“I’m more of a classical realist.”

“Alright then. You do you, Matejko.”

“Better.”

During their exchange Tim’s head, still wearing the helmet, had flopped over onto Dick’s shoulder. Dick shook him a few times but all he got in response were some muffled snoring noises. Jason chuckled and said, “You might want to take that off him because it’s probably setting off an alert downstairs that he’s unconscious. Don’t want anyone to panic just because he’s fallen asleep. Your fingerprints will work on the release.”

“Our fingerprints work on each other’s helmets?” Dick ran his finger along the security sensor of Tim’s helmet and it opened with a hiss and he removed it before gently moving Tim back into a prone position on the couch, this time with his head on a pillow at the other end and his feet in Dick’s lap.

“And Bruce and Alfred’s. If you get hurt, they’ll need to be able to take it off. I’ve also made it that each of you also have a few other people with access, just in case of emergency. Steph and Cassie can open Tim’s. Batman Junior, yours can be opened by Starfire and Superboy. And I also gave Lois Lane access in case something happens and Jon panics.” Damian scowled at the last bit, but seemed to see the sense in it because he didn’t complain.

“Babs and Wally?” questioned Dick in regard to his own and Jason nodded in response. “Damian, it’s getting late. Can you take these down to the cave on your way to bed?” Jason expected him to complain about being sent to bed like a child, but Damian surprised him by simply standing up and gathering up the helmets. He walked toward the door to leave when Dick called after him. “Thanks for helping me with Tim.”  Damian nodded goodnight to the two of them and left silently.

Getting out from underneath Tim’s legs, Dick settled himself on the floor beside Jason. Jason cocked his head towards Tim, who had started snoring loudly once Dick had moved. “Don’t you need to wake him up?”

“Nope. I lied to him earlier. It’s been a couple hours. Alfred’s time limit was over a while ago. I was just being cautious.” Dick grabbed his phone and within seconds the fireplace in the room was lit, glow filling the room. He seemed to be stalling for time, and Jason could see from the tension in his jaw that he was trying to think of a way to say something, trying to choose his words carefully. Trying to avoid spooking the untamed horse in their stable or something.

Jason bit the bullet himself, not wanting to sit in awkward silence and knowing that Dick would do better with awkward conversation to move him forward than overthinking whatever it was he had to say. “You’re good with them.”

“It took a lot of practice, but it was important. I learned my lesson the first time around.” Dick looked at Jason pointedly, who avoided turning his head to look back but said nothing. Seeing his opening, Dick kept going. “What about you? Who can open your helmet?”

Jason stared into the fireplace, avoiding Dick’s stare, and rubbed his palms against his knees. “Your fingerprints all work on mine. And Roy, Kori and Artemis.” The Outlaws all needed access, especially when their work took them frequently out of Gotham and they usually handled their own field injuries. “Biz surprisingly doesn’t have fingerprints. I would have thought they were just the flipped version of Superman’s, but apparently not.”

A few moments passed before Dick whispered, “Ours work on yours?” Jason nodded.

“They always have.” Dick looked surprised and Jason couldn’t really blame him. He knew how his actions looked from the outside, but at the core of it, he had just wanted justice, acknowledgement and acceptance. He’s methods had just been a little… severe. “When I first came back, I assumed that you guys wouldn’t let me die if you could help it, so I added your prints. It’s hard to get vengeance if you die again due do your own security measures.”

The room grew quiet again, with only the soft snoring of Tim from the couch interrupting the silence, while both of them stared into the flames, lost in their own thoughts. It was one of those moments when Jason couldn’t figure out how they had got from the chaos to the peace, but he liked it. It felt like… home.

“Thank you,” said Dick quietly.

“For the helmet? I knew you wouldn’t wear it before I gave it to you, but you’re welcome.”

“Not just for that.” Dick knocked his shoulder against him slightly. “For trusting us. Even when we were all at our worst. Despite all our screw ups we wouldn’t have wanted to lose you again. Lose the chance at this.”

“None of us were making very good life choices, were we?”

“Most of our life choices are questionable at best. Probably because we all have brain damage. At least our hearts are in the right places, right?”

“That they are.”


End file.
